


Thomas Becket, You Are Noble

by booktick



Category: Becket (1964)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, during many winters, Henry enjoyed time with his Thomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thomas Becket, You Are Noble

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this franchise.

* * *

The Christmas was cold and it had forever and a day been as such. Too much cold meant too much fire; furthermore Henry was a man who favored fire. Thomas detested fire, forever complained of how the heat would bother his skin, his hair would burn all off if he got to close he claimed once. Henry had laughed, it had been a joke in his opinion though Becket found little wit in it. That’s what he loved about his Thomas; by no means had the man lied to his face. That satisfied the King. Whilst the King was happy, the kingdom was at tranquility, from his temper, and his great capacity for love. Not even his Eleanor could understand how her Henry, her husband, could love a man as vast as Thomas Becket.

Henry stood at the banister, watching as the creatures, he claimed as offspring, laughed, played war as well as King. None of them were ruler, not thus far anyhow. Not his John, not even little Richard, even as bitter and strong as the miniature creature had claimed to be. He was no Henry, he was just a boy. Perchance he truly did love his boys, yes; they were his boys after all. Except the King did not spend much occasion focusing on the family life before him, his eyes wanted to see what he sought prior to Christmas, since Eleanor had protested at the proposal of him being here. His Thomas. Where was he?

His eyes searched, all over, from the steps to children again. He was nowhere, “Eleanor, have you seen Thomas?”

Eleanor of Aquitaine too her gracious time answering too. She looked upon his face, an expression of exasperation. Her threads and needle upon her lap, with her hands folded over, “No, Henry. I have yet to see your friend. Perhaps he is not joining us this fine day. Wouldn’t that be a thought?” She smiled her wicked smile. Henry stared upon her for a moment long, then away.

He’d have thrown a just as wicked comment in return but he was too distracted.

“Where the devil is he—“

“Where is who, your grace?” A flourishing tone sounded off behind him. It was him!

Henry whipped around and there stood his brute. His friend. His family. Thomas Becket. His Thomas…

“Thomas, you dog.” Henry had laughed; it seemed he found it as a joke. A terrible, terrible joke, but the King laughed and Thomas smiled in return. Thomas wore simply furs, with boots that had been a gift from Henry years before, when they had first become friends. Of course, warm clothing for cold winds, clever devil that Thomas Becket was.

“Where have you been? Surely not hiding from me.” It was a tease. He had too often enjoyed seeing how Thomas stared, the smallest of smiles upon the man’s lips. It was a gift, one should have seen, a gift from Thomas to his Henry. How gracious and generous Thomas Becket was, until the end of time putting others in front of himself, greater than his own happiness.

“No, never from you, my king.” Thomas assured him, a petite box in his hands. What was that? A present, “For you, I thought you’d appreciate it, as you have a taste for such things.”

“You should not have done this, Thomas. You do know how I favor your gifts.” There was a scoff from his wife, which he generously ignored, for Thomas.

“Yes, Thomas, Henry so does favor your gifts. Most interestingly enough, over those of his wife and children as well. Strange, food for thought I suppose.” Eleanor continued to knit, and never once looked upon Thomas Becket’s figure.

“Eleanor, your jealousy does not become you, try something else on. Perhaps gratefulness or modesty. We all know how you value virtues in this life.” Henry responded, before he opened his gift. Thomas Becket had not said a word, not a whisper, in return. That was just who Thomas was.

Henry looked into his box, and saw a small pendent. What—?

He plucked it, with two fingers, from its cage. It was a crest. Yet it held a T and an H, letters upon it. Engraved it seemed.

“For Thomas and Henry.”

“For Thomas and Henry.” Henry repeated Thomas’ words in a whisper. Before he looked back, he held the pin tightly in his palm. He crushed it with such intensity, and he never felt his heart race as it had then.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, “For Thomas and Henry. Thank you, Thomas. I doubt I could ever regret having a friend such as you. And you are most definitely my greatest friend. You are truly noble.”


End file.
